Because of Plums and Shadows
by DemiS
Summary: The dreams... The shadows... Each haunt John as he tried to live through the tragedy of Sherlock's death. The visions and sights will the end of John. "You see him too?" SHORT


~Because of Plums and Shadows~

He took a step towards the door, his eyes shining and skin pale. He took another. The chilly air of October seeped through. The small café underneath was empty, except for a lonely figure, hunched over the bar. His tall figure ripped through the man's heart, and for a moment, just a little moment, he thought that his partner was back.

The man at the bar glanced around, his beard wild and grizzly. His partner wasn't back… Just a lonely memory…

He tore his gaze from the café, staring at the door. The knocker was crooked, shining. He stared and stared… nothing changed.

"John…" A whisper of the wind made him turn, searching for the voice.

"John… you're not alone…" A kiss of a random raindrop landed on his pale lips.

"Come to me John…"

Shaking of the feeling, the man shook his head, turning to jog in the opposite direction. "No… no. No." He snaked through London, his silent sorrow ignored by others.

Nooo…

The evening was cold, and snow rained down through the window. John sat next to it, his sorrowed eyes searching the lonely street below.

"John? Dear, what are you doing here?" Ms. Hudson peered through the door, frowning at John.

"John? It's Christmas." She took a step in, glancing about the flat. "Nothing has changed. I didn't want to ruin anything by dusting." She waved the air in front of her, coughing.

She paused, pursing her lips as she took in John.

"John… What is it? Didn't you have a boyfriend?"

John's head perked at that, and he shook his head.

"For the last time, Ms. Hudson. I'm not gay."

Sighing, yet smiling, Ms. Hudson whispered, "That's what they all say."

…

"Ms. Hudson?"

"Hm?"

"Do you ever see him? Around, I mean."

…

"Yes. I do… Always. I see him in dreams, destroying my walls… Placing heads and eyes everywhere." She paused as tears blackened her eyes. "He is everywhere. I even saw him in a puddle a few weeks ago."

She took a few steps towards John, whose head was dropped between his knees. His face was streaming and his back hunched.

"It's all my fault… I shouldn't have let him…"

Ms. Hudson frowned, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Dear, don't say that." A pause… "Come on, join me for Christmas. You shouldn't be alone."

John glanced up, slowly nodding.

Ms. Hudson smiled, whispering, "Come on, dear."

The morning air was crisp and surprisingly warm as John shook his coat out, leaving it on the rack of his new apartment. His hand then reached down to a bowl, grabbing a plum for an uncountable time.

His eyes traveled to the window, and the watched the bustle ad hustle of London during late March. He bit into the ripe plum, letting the juice flow into his mouth.

It was as if the world had forgotten him, and left John wondering what he was to do with his life. His cane clopped against the wood as he limped towards the door. Shaking his head, he grabbed the white coat and slipped out again. The nametag read: _Dr. John Watson_

As he left the flat, his eyes froze on a black cloak, and ruffled, curly hair. Sharp green eyes stared into warm brown ones.

"Sherlock?" John choked, his mouth gaping.

"Yes. Of course John, who else?" The way Sherlock was so normal, so Sherlock, made John sorrowful. It was as if his death had never occurred.

"No. You're not him. He's dead. Gone." John shook his head forcefully, trying to clear his troubled mind. "No. Dead. Gone."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, exasperated. "I've been reaching out to you for months. Are you blind? Deaf? Come on. I need your help."

John stood there, his eyes wide, his fist trembling.

"Move! John, we have stuff to do. I'm bored!"

And that… That crushed John. He snapped his eyes shut, his foot almost collapsing under him. He leaned against the cane, memories flashing against his lids.

"John, bloody hell? Why do you have your cane?"

Sherlock suddenly swiped the cane from underneath John.

John's instincts kicked in, and his body balanced. Exhaling, he snatched the cane from Sherlock's hand, and limped down the stairs.

"John!" Sherlock voice slowed to a stop after a few more tries, and John finally relaxed.

His hallucinations woulb be the end of him.

"John? I'm here. Talk to me." Sherlock's pained voice sounded for the 5th time in summer, and John's life crumpled more and more each time.

One July morning, he took a step outside his flat, eyes scanning the filled street. His heart smiled in sadness and fell. He saw himself and Sherlock running through the street tracing lines in London. Or the time when Sherlock twisted the knocker back to crooked, speaking of his brother's OCD.

"John. Jesus _Christ_. I'm here. I've been here for so long."

John shook his head, and started limping towards the cab that stooped waiting. He sped up his walk, trying to catch it in time. Yards away, a lady ran towards the cab, swiping the door open and lurching inside.

John cursed, watching the cab pull away in a hurry.

"You could have caught it, you know. Your leg is fine."

John clenched his fists. "What am I supposed to do to get rid of you!? Sherlock's gone! I don't need my mind playing cruel tricks on me! Lestrade things I'm mad now! And Molly wanted to send me a meat loaf! They've all moved on. With battle scars! But no. I'm stuck here! With you tr-trailing me." John's voice broke, and his mind shattered.

"No. I'm not. I… John! I'm not a trick! I'm here. I can't go to anyone else. I need you!" Sherlock threw his hands in the air, angry with is unseeing partner.

"No! YOU'RE DEAD!" John shouted, receiving looks from onlookers.

Sherlock shook his head softly, turning on the spot. He disappeared away in the crowd, his cloak swishing into the unknown.

"Leave me… please." John begged, turning to find a cab.

"John?"

John's head snapped up, his head leaving his desk.

"No… nooo, please." John rubbed his eyes, ignoring the voice at the door. "LEAVE ME!" He cried in sudden anger, pushing his palms against the desk to rise, his chair falling behind him.

He took raging steps towards the window, his fists curling and shadowed eyes cloaked with dull rage. The light blinded him, and his eyes were so used to soft light of weeks in the flat.

"You just walked with no limp! God damn it, John! You don't need a cane!" Sherlock rapped against the door.

John slammed his head against the window, his hands clawing at his eyes.

"FINE! If you don't believe I'm here, I'LL BRING MYCROFT, FOR GOD'S SAKE. EVEN MOLLY AND GREG."

A thunder of footsteps rocketed down the stairs. John glanced back, frowning.

"He's gone. For now…" He shuddered, playing with the edge of his shirt.

No one was coming.

"John? John, please. Sherlock brought us."

John clenched his fists and eyes. He chewed the plum in his mouth, biting into to it furiously. He was hallucinating. Again. No one was at his door.

"John? Damn it, I have a meeting in an hour with the Prime Minister! I don't have time for silly games."

John's heart lifted for a moment, and he gazed up at the door. His hands trembling, he stepped towards the door.

Hesitating, the pulled open the door, his eyes shut.

He slowly peeled them open, staring at the four pairs of eyes.

"Oh God." John's heart lurched, and he had to lean against the door to stop him falling. His heart was hammering, and his skin was paper white. He wasn't just a shadow… Or a cruel thought. Oh God… The plum fell from his hand, rolling onto the floor and passed the stairs, dropping down painfully.

"John, are you all right?" Molly grasped my hand, frowning. "We were so worried about you."

John took in deep breaths, his empty eyes looking around. He gasped, and his chest tightened.

"You can see him too?" John whispered, gazing up with wide eyes and shaking hands.

A.N Hey guys! This was a short I worked on today! I had so much fun on this! :D This was inspired by a thing on tumblr! I can't seem to find it again, so I'm so sorry!

Thanks for reading, and please review! :D

-Demi


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